Just Another Saturday Night
by Medusa -the writer
Summary: Set near the end of season 3. With his Hell-clock ticking down Dean has little left to lose for himself, and is a little reckless. But when something goes wrong, it's not him that pays the price.


Just Another Saturday Night

By Medusa

Set near the end of season 3.

With his Hell-clock ticking down Dean has little left to lose for himself, and is a little reckless. But when something goes wrong, it's not him that pays the price.

Oh Sam Fic Challenge, Nov 2011

Prompt by **the_sammykinz**: Gen or Sam/Dean, any season. Dean screws up, big time - maybe in a bar after a game of pool, or in a seedy back-alley after a few rounds of poker - and the burly fellows he's keeping company with don't take too kindly to being scammed. So they come up with an idea: if Dean doesn't want to give them their money back, fine, but he still has to pay - or maybe his pretty brother does. Just not with money.

Author's note: I tried to stick to the prompt as closely as my muse would allow. I hope I've done it justice.

Thanks to my awesome beta Sendintheklowns.

Down time between hunts meant, to Dean at least, the opportunity to kick back and relax, and to earn a little extra cash to top off his wallet. Sometimes more than a little cash.

Like tonight.

His brother preferred to sit a few tables away, content to nurse a solitary beer and keep his nose buried in his laptop, researching for ways to break the unbreakable deal that Dean had made more than six months earlier. He may appear to the casual observer to be oblivious to everything around him, but Dean knew Sam was tuned in to everything that was going on. He'd be ready to react if the situation got heavy.

Dean had found a willing bunch of locals to sit down and play poker with, have a few beers, shoot the breeze, and take for everything they had. His usual MO.

Things were going all according to plan until that last, big pot – over fifteen hundred dollars – and the other players had started to rumble about whether or not he'd played them. A quick pre-arranged signal to Sam and then he was busy playing the wounded innocent who just got lucky, to give his brother time to slip away unnoticed.

"What do you mean? You think I _cheated_?" Dean spluttered, feigning outrage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Sam's table was empty and the door to the rear exit swinging closed.

The four other men from the game crowded up into Dean's personal space, murmuring discontentedly that damn right they thought he'd cheated, or scammed them at the very least. It wasn't yet time, or good odds, to start swinging punches. He still had time to talk his way out of it. He offered to play one more round, double or nothing, straight up.

"How about you just hand over the money. All of it?" The biggest and ugliest of the group suggested, in a tone that made it clear it was far more than just a suggestion.

Dean wasn't stupid. He knew when it was time to make a strategic withdrawal. Plus the number in the group had grown to six that he could count, four from the table and two more who'd appeared behind them. He could afford to lose the money from the last pot, he still had his other winnings stashed and it would be enough to see them through the next little while. And he could maybe walk out of there without damaging his good looks. Any other time and he would have done just that except this time he hadn't really needed to scam all that much so it came down to principle.

"Look, fellas, no harm, no foul. It was just a friendly game. I got lucky, is all. I won that hand fair and square, so how about you guys just be good sports about it, and I'll just be on my way…"

As Dean stepped back, ready to make his getaway, he found there was another behemoth right behind him. This was starting to turn a little bit nasty and he tensed. It looked like he wasn't going to get the easy option even if he'd wanted it. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready for the coming fight and hoped it wouldn't be a slaughter. It seemed like half the bar crowd was now in a circle around him, the other half either ignoring the situation or quietly leaving. Even the bartender was turning a blind eye, so no help there.

A scuffle at the door pulled Dean's attention and his stomach sank. Two more burly lumberjack types were dragging Sam back into the bar, with Sam trying to fight them every step of the way. Two others flanked the guys holding Sam.

"Found his partner outside, plus a very sweet ride," one of those not holding Sam stepped forward, dangling the Impala's keys in the air.

Sam threw Dean an apologetic look.

"Now, wait a minute…" Dean stepped forward, only to be grabbed and held by a couple of the big guys nearest him.

The ringleader laughed. "Well, well, well. Mr. Shark here got himself a sweet ride _and_ a pretty bitch, hmmm?"

Both brothers bristled at the insinuation. It wasn't the first time someone had made a wrong assumption about their relationship but it never ceased to annoy them. Before Dean could say anything, Sam opened his mouth, struggling even harder to get loose from the iron grips holding him, anger rolling off him in waves.

"He's my _brother,_ jackass! Let him go. Let us both go, before you do something you'll regret."

Dean groaned inwardly. Sam never knew when to shut his pie hole. Dean braced himself for the coming brawl, and just hoped Sam would survive. For himself, he only had a few months left anyway, and he was mentally working out how to draw most of the attention.

Except…

Boss douche-bag switched his attention to Sam, and eyed him up and down. For what, Dean couldn't tell and didn't want to even guess.

"Got a smart mouth on ya, boy. And I see you've got some muscle there too." The guy, Frank, said, squeezing one of Sam's biceps. Sam tried to pull away.

Frank paused, as if in thought, and looked from brother to brother. It didn't take a genius to work out which one was the older, more protective, brother. An idea came to him and he smiled, teeth showing, like a predator. He turned back to Dean.

"Tell ya what. I'm a fair and just kinda fella."

The crowd immediately around them chuckled obscenely. Dean became even more worried, and Sam had that blank look that Dean knew was Sam-speak for being totally freaked.

"How's about we make a gentlemanly deal?" Frank snarked at Dean.

"What kind of deal?" Dean asked, warily.

"One round, no holds barred, against cousin Wes. Fight stops when there's only one man standing. Winner take all."

Sam shifted nervously, and Dean tried to take in what he was being offered. Dean was pretty handy with his fists and knew a few dirty tricks. He figured he might get out of it without being beaten to too much of a bloody mess.

"_If_ you're up to it, that is." Frank challenged.

"What if we say no," Sam spat.

Frank scratched the back of his neck. "It's a looong walk to the next town, if you manage to walk outta here in one piece. I don't think that two of you could take on all of us. I'm offering a _fair _deal."

"If I agree, my brother gets to leave, right now." Dean demanded.

Frank laughed, a full belly laugh that sounded oddly out of place. Then he sobered.

"No way in Hell. In fact, Little Brother gets to have all the fun."

"What? No!" Dean was not going to let this all ride on Sam. It was one thing to risk himself, but he wasn't going to risk Sam.

Frank got up close into Dean's personal space. "Way I see it, you got two choices. You can say 'yes, Frank,' and get to stay around to watch Little Brother, or… the two of you can take your chances taking on all of us and see how far you get."

Dean glanced across at Sam. He took stock, again, at the number of opponents. There was no way they could fight their way out of this. Sam was good in a fight, had some good kung fu moves that Dean envied and a long reach with those gorilla arms, but he wasn't sure Sam had the same ruthless streak in him when it came to fighting humans.

Sam and Dean had one of their silent conversations. Sam was pleading with Dean not to do anything stupid, telling him to put some faith into him to get them out of this in one piece.

Dean really didn't have a choice.

"Alright." He huffed, and immediately saw Sam's look of relief. "I don't like it, but it seems we don't have much of a choice."

"Knew you'd see it my way," Frank clapped Dean good-naturedly on the shoulder, almost knocking him out of the grip of the two beefy guys holding him. "Gene, Roy, let's get this place cleared. We're gonna have us a Fight."

Sam and Dean were led over to a corner under the watchful eye of a couple of the bigger guys while the bar furniture was quickly cleared to the sides of room. They had a few moments to whisper together and for Dean to get Sam ready. God, he wished that it he was the one going to fight. It was going to be hard watching his little brother take a beating.

"Dean, it's okay," Sam said before Dean spoke. "I can do this."

It wasn't that Dean doubted Sam's fighting ability. He'd been, they'd _both _been, trained by an ex-Marine. Sam also had his martial arts moves, and he knew a dirty trick or two of his own.

Sam nodded, reassuringly. "I'll be fine."

"Alright," Frank's raised voice silenced the excited chatter in the room. "Here's how it goes. The fight keeps going until the last man standing. No weapons allowed, no outside help. Otherwise, anything goes." He turned to Sam, "Take off your shirts and boots. I'll check you for any hidden weapons, and your brother here will be allowed to check Wes."

Next he addressed the crowd in the bar, which had swelled in numbers dramatically in the last ten or so minutes. "All bets are to be placed with Pete, at the bar. House gets ten percent, winner gets ten percent, then all winning bets get paid. Sound fair?"

There were murmurings of assent all around, and a queue suddenly formed so bets could be laid. Frank looked expectantly at Dean, and Dean knew he was expected to bet all his poker winnings, and it was very evident from the smirks on the other gamblers' faces that they did not expect to lose. What he did balk at was being ordered to hand over his car keys as well as part of his stake. Suddenly there was a whole lot more riding on the outcome of this fight, and the Winchester's simply could not afford to lose.

When Dean made his way back to Sam he found his younger brother preparing himself for the coming fight, loosening up muscles, psyching himself up to take on his opponent. Dean knew his brother had seen Wes, the same as he had. Wes was a mountain of a man, easily as tall as Sam and weighing about 50lbs more. Dean knew appearances could be deceiving and that just because the man looked docile and slow, didn't mean he wouldn't be able to pack one hell of a punch.

Dean was having second, third, and fourth thoughts about all of it.

"We could still try and make a run for it," he whispered.

"No, we can't," Sam replied quietly. "Trust me, Dean. I can do this. It's my turn to get us out in one piece – well, _almost_ in one piece," he said, giving his older brother a lop-sided grin.

Dean sighed. "Okay. Go get 'em, Tiger." He slapped Sam on the back as his brother made his way into the center of the room.

Frank made a show of patting Sam down, looking for any hidden weaponry. Dean bristled at just how thoroughly Frank seemed to enjoy putting his hands all over his brother. Then Frank gestured to Dean to come over to Wes and check him out. Dean quickly and efficiently patted the big man down. Satisfied, Dean moved back to the corner. Frank moved to the opposite corner, leaving only Sam and Wes in the middle.

The two men circled each other, looking for an opening. Wes made the first move which Sam easily side-stepped. Two more half-hearted moves were made before Wes landed a hard blow to Sam's ribs, starting the fight in earnest. Blow for blow was traded, both men giving and taking hammering hits. Dean and Frank and the entire bar crowd were yelling encouragement and advice.

One minute stretched into two, then five, then ten. It was obvious that both were starting to tire but it looked like Sam was coming out the worse for wear, his leaner frame taking the blows harder than his more padded opponent. Dark bruises were already starting to form under the red marks where meaty fists had connected with skin.

Dean watched as Wes moved in once again and saw a feral smile on the big man's face, clearly telegraphing that he was moving in for the "kill". Before Dean had a chance to shout a warning to his brother Wes made his move, feinting left then bringing up his right fist in an arc aimed at Sam's head. Somehow Sam moved just enough that it was a glancing blow rather than lights out, but it was enough to stun him momentarily. Pressing his advantage, Wes moved in again swinging with his left this time.

Sam ducked just at the last second and the momentum swung Wes off balance. Sam used this to his advantage, pivoted and executed a perfect roundhouse kick, connecting with his opponents left ear, further knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. Wes floundered for a good few seconds before sluggishly pulling himself up off the floor. Sam could easily have taken advantage and landed another hit but he waited until Wes was fully upright and ready to keep fighting before making a slight left pivot and lashing out again with his right leg in a solid side kick to the other man's stomach.

Wes went down again, and again Sam waited until he got back up before moving in with a series of one-two jabs before Wes had a chance to get another solid blow to Sam's ribs which doubled the younger man over, knocking some of the wind from him. The din from the crowd was deafening, they could sense the end coming and were expecting Wes to finish Sam off while he was still trying to draw breath. Dean wasn't sure Sam could stand another hit to his ribs without some major damage being done. He was yelling as hard as everyone else but it seemed only his lone voice was in support of Sam.

Sam coughed and sucked in as big a breath as he could manage. Dean had almost heard the crack of Sam's ribs with that last hit. He needed Sam to end this quickly while he still could. With a look that Dean knew was a silent apology to his opponent, Sam reared back up and delivered another roundhouse kick. Wes went down again, but this time he stayed down. The crowd was wildly screaming for him to get back up and 'finish off the punk'. In his favor, Wes did try to get up – twice – before finally flopping face down on the floor, out cold.

A sudden silence was broken only by Sam's harsh and ragged breathing as he staggered back a step, waiting to see if it was finally over. Dean doubted that there was a single part of his awesome little brother that didn't hurt and he prayed that someone would declare the fight over before Sam joined Wes on the floor.

An angry grumble grew as Frank stepped forward and flipped the unconscious Wes over with his foot. Grudgingly he then moved over to Sam and grabbed his right wrist, hoisting it up even as Sam gasped with the pull on his injured ribs, declaring Sam the winner.

Dean rushed over and slung his arm over Sam's shoulders, too concerned with how hurt his little brother was to even congratulate him. He led Sam back to the corner where a chair had mysteriously appeared, and sat him down to start inspecting his injuries.

"God, Sam, you're a mess but if you can hold on I think we should get out of here before I take a good look at you. Think you can make it."

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam huffed what sounded like a chuckle, following it up with, "Ow," as he cradled his aching side.

Dean tensed and turned to face Frank as he came up to the brothers, half expecting more trouble.

"There haven't been very many people who can take Wes down," Frank stated. "Your brother fought pretty well."

Dean gave a slight nod to acknowledge the compliment. "He won, fair and square, according to your rules," he answered.

Frank sighed, "That he did. Here." Frank held out a wad of bills. "His ten percent."

Dean took the money without bothering to count it, wary of any duplicity.

"And this is yours." Frank handed him a second, much bigger roll of money and his car keys. "Gotta be a coupla grand there, at least. But I'd take it and go get in that shiny car of yours and drive as far away from here as you can get, as fast as you can."

Dean nodded. That was his plan. "Thanks," he responded simply, shoving both bundles of cash into his jacket pocket. He hauled Sam upright and pointed him towards the door. "C'mon, Rocky, let's get you out of here."

Dean half supported Sam as they made it out to the car as quickly as possible. He figured Sam would survive a couple hours drive, so they could get far enough away, before Dean could clean up his cuts and bruises. His little brother had done him proud tonight and it loosened a little of the tightness in Dean's chest. The thought of leaving his brother behind to continue the fight alone didn't sit well with him, even though they had no choice now. Seeing Sam fight tonight impressed him and reminded him that he sure as hell was going to miss his kid brother when his deal came due.


End file.
